Page 57 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” I took her hand and tugged, waiting for her to fall in step next to me as I headed off the patio and on the path through the gardens.

Olesya looked up at me, squinting against the sun. “What kind of surprise?”

“The kind you’ll like,” I answered cryptically as we crossed the manicured lawn toward the guest houses. She looked confused as we approached a house she hadn’t yet been inside and circled to the rear entrance that led down into the basement. I guided her down the stairs, opened the door, and motioned for her to enter before me. “Ladies first.”

It took a moment for Olesya to understand what she was looking at, especially after going from bright sunlight to the more muted lights in the basement. She gasped when the realization hit.

“Dante,” she breathed, incredulous. “This is amazing.”

That might have been an overstatement. The makeshift clinic was far from what my wife was used to in her small-town practice. It more closely resembled a triage room than a welcoming room for routine visits. After all, she was more likely to treat wounds from fights than scraped knees from falling off bikes.

Cabinets lined the walls, filled with anything Cosimo thought Olesya might need, and the room was divided into two treatment bays with curtains that could be pulled shut for privacy. On one side was an exam table, much like a standard doctor’s office. The other side held an operation table for more severe traumas. There wasn’t room for imaging equipment, but anything of that nature would need surgeons at a hospital, anyway.

“This is mine?” Her voice was soft, contemplative.

I nodded. “All yours.”

Olesya walked around the room in a daze, reaching out and brushing her fingers along the rim of an adjustable lamp, then pulling them back swiftly. She looked back over her shoulder. “Is it sterile?”

“Not right now, no,” I answered.

“Okay.” She continued touching and familiarizing herself with the equipment, opening cabinet doors, and nodding.

Through a door at the other end of the large room, a small hallway branched off into a large bathroom suite to the right and an office to the left. I followed, watching Olesya discover the small armoire of scrubs at the back of the office.

“My med bag!” she exclaimed, finding the leather organizer at the bottom of the closet. “I thought you’d left it behind.”

I smiled at her, soaking in the happiness radiating from her face. “I figured you might need it one day.”

“Thank you.” Olesya rushed across the office and flung herself into my arms. I caught her around the shoulders and waist, holding her tightly to my chest until we could barely breathe. When I lowered her back to the floor, she grasped my face in her hands and kissed me deeply. “Thank you, Dante. This means everything.”

“I’m glad you approve.” I chuckled when she gave me another peck on the lips before stepping back and turning in a circle.

She darted from the room with purpose, leaving me to rush after her. I found her searching through the cabinets again, biting her lip in concentration. She’d shifted to work mode. “Can I give you a list of things I still need?”

“Of course,” I answered. “Just write it down, and I’ll give it to Cosimo.”

“Did he get all this stuff?”

“Yes.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and contemplated how much to tell her. “He knows the most about medical devices.”

“Because he’s the enforcer,” Olesya supplied, unfazed.

My brows shot up. “You know what he does?”

“People talk,” she said with a shrug. “And look at him. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he’s operating on another level.”

“Is that a kind way of saying he’s a psychopath?” I asked.

Olesya pursed her lips and pulled a paper pad and a pen from one of the drawers. “I’m not qualified to diagnose him. But he’s always been… different than the rest of you.”

“Fair enough.” I took a seat on one of the circular leather rolling chairs.

She glanced down at me. “You don’t have to stay while I do inventory. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

“Nothing more important than spending time with my wife,” I answered.

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